


Androids don't age

by Youngsoul



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Aging, Angst, Depression, Gen, Horror, Minor Character Death, Possible Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27778945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Youngsoul/pseuds/Youngsoul
Summary: Connor wasn’t a human.Connor looked like it, sounded like it. Could feel emotions, could feel cold, could think, and speak. But his skin never aged, his body remained at a constant.Hank’s time was different from his.
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor
Kudos: 22





	Androids don't age

**Author's Note:**

> I found myself feeling so sad when I thought about how Connor would one day inevitably end up losing Hank and Sumo as his body doesn't age and this came about.

Androids don’t age.

They aren’t humans – their skin doesn’t show marks of time, no new wrinkles or scars appearing as the synthetic material is capable of healing itself over and overlooking no different than it did the very first day they were activated.

The lines on Connor’s forehead were only for show – only to make him appear older than his actual “age”. His appearance was carefully crafted to mimic human appearance. He knows just how many freckles there are on his skin, knows that it is a number that never changes – just like the number of hair follicles that he has. It never changes.

But Hank does.

They both know that time passes differently for androids and humans. But they never discuss it.

Years pass. Hank turns grayer, the lines on his face get deeper, and more appear next to each other. Connor counts each new one. Every single new one makes his chest feel tight.

Connor doesn’t change.

It takes 14 years before Hank deems that he’s done his part for the Detroit Police Department and retires. Connor has watched him grow more tired with each passing task. How his brain is still as sharp as ever but the body carrying that brilliant detective mind slowly starts failing him.

Connor remains at the Police Department for two more years without Hank as his partner. His body has not aged – never will.

After a while, Connor goes home to Hank each day wishing that he could repair Hank as easily as he maintains his own immortal body.

 _“Humans don’t come back,”_ Hank’s words start to haunt him once he starts spending more time in bed each morning.

Time passes.

Hank moves more slowly, aches each morning, gains weight from the lack of exercise.

Connor doesn’t know what to do.

Markus attempts to teach him about dealing with the inevitable – the grief. Connor doesn’t want to feel those things. He pushes the conversation far in his memories, somewhere where he doesn’t have to access it.

Connor couldn’t help Sumo.

The dog grew old as well. He had been just as happy as ever, but he walked far slower and much less. He slept more, just like Hank. Connor had found the similarities amusing at one point. He forgets why, when Sumo’s body is cold one morning when he starts his day and the dog doesn’t come to the kitchen to get his breakfast as usual.

Sumo is cremated. He doesn’t come back. Because dogs don’t come back either.

Connor knows that Hank won’t come back either – once his body cools as Sumo’s had. It would never be warm again.

Hank faces his mortality after Sumo’s death. He talks to Connor about _after._

Connor doesn’t understand what Hank expects of him.

Hank had become far more than his partner. Hank was Connor’s family. His reason for existence was to be at Hank’s side.

Connor tells him this – one night when they fight. Desperate for Hank to understand that it wasn’t an option for him to stop existing.

Hank makes a grim joke: “ _You gonna stand by my grave until you shut down or something? I don’t need that on my conscience._ ”

Connor doesn’t know where else he could be – what else he could do.

“You’re your own person, Connor. I’m a human – I ain’t immortal like you. You keep on living, son,” Hank tells him.

It sounds like an order. But Connor feels like this is one of those orders he just can’t obey.

_-RK800-_

Hank isn’t the only human who ages, of course.

People die constantly. Androids don’t.

Malfunctions sometimes occur, yes. Accidents can happen as well. But there are no “natural causes” for android deaths.

Connor sometimes feels a little sick by his own body. It ticks and hums – mimics something that is organic. But he wonders if his creation had to do more with the human fear of aging and dying – fear of mortality?

Kamski fears death.

This becomes very obvious once he succeeds, very publicly, in transferring his consciousness into an android body that was constructed in his image.

He is Kamski in all ways but one, he claims: _“My blood now flows blue.”_

Hank ages. Kamski and Connor don’t.

“Hank – I don’t want to be alone.”

_-RK800-_

He finds Kamski. It feels like a mission now.

His own value seems to hinge on Hank’s existence. Without Hank, what is left of Connor? Nothing, really. Risking that life that only has value for a short amount of time seems like the least he can do.

“I want to save Hank.”

 _“For who?”_ Kamski asks.

“For him.”

_“For **you**.”_

_-RK800-_

He’s been called a lot of things by the other deviants. They’re right, of course.

Connor was always lost in his deviancy. He didn’t know what to do without orders – without a mission.

Hank had given him a sense of purpose. Hank was… everything for him. Without Hank – how would he know how to live anymore?

It was as they said – he was a lost puppy, desperately clinging to his owner.

Hank didn’t _own_ Connor – he was always clear about that. But Connor felt safer in feeling that way. He always had a place to return to. Always had Hank to tell him how to be better – how to learn to live.

“I need him.” Connor felt like those words were far from enough. “He’s…” nothing in the English vocabulary seemed satisfactory. Everything. _Everything._

Hank made him promise. But it was a lie for Connor. He just wanted to make Hank happy.

There were more lines. His wrists were thin. Veins, _appearing blue like his own blood on the surface,_ pushed out prominently. His eyes were no longer as bright as they had been. His hair was thinner than ever. Cheekbones sharp. _Unhealthy._ _Ill. Frail._

**_Dying_ ** **.**

The reflection in the mirror never changed. Never aged.

_“…android heaven?”_

There was nowhere Connor would be reunited with Hank. Because Connor didn’t age – would never die. He would cease to function, someday. But there would be no Hank there on the other side. There would be no other side at all.

Connor wasn’t a human. Connor looked like it, sounded like it. Could feel emotions, could feel cold, could think, and speak. But his skin never aged, his body remained at a constant.

Hank’s time was different from his.

“I’m sorry Hank.”

He could not live without Hank. Because Hank made him what he was. If Hank died, Connor would die too. Connor didn’t want to die – especially not when he would still continue to _exist._ Aimless, empty, waiting for some end.

So he “played god”. Changed Hank’s time to match his.

_-RK800-_

Androids don’t age.

Connor knows the amount of every single unchanging line, every single freckle on his skin. His hair remains the same length, has the same amount of follicles. It never changes. Never ages, never scars.

Every day, Connor counts the lines on Hank’s forehead. He counts the freckles, counts the scars.

But now, those remain the same. Never changing, never increasing. They remain just as in his memory of their first meeting.

Connor doesn’t age.

Now, neither does Hank.

Their blood runs blue now. Never changing.


End file.
